Then she whirled, arms flung wide, silk sleeves snapping like banners.
“Let us have Vykenraven!”
She laughed, breathless with triumph.
“Tomorrow night—the invocation comes to Rhidian!”
The declaration rang down the hall—off marble and steel.
The air itself seemed to flinch.
Even the torches shuddered in their sconces.
Guards shifted uneasily, but none dared speak.
Zeporah pivoted sharply, her gaze snaring Amerei. One hand rose, brushing Amerei’s cheek in a mockery of tenderness, her nails grazing just sharp enough to sting.
“We shall adorn ourselves in the garments I had saved for the blood moon feast.”
Then her eyes slid to Viktor, lingering far too long.
“Come to my party, Captain,” she murmured. “And do bring that delicious elf with you.”
With that, she swept away, the echo of her laughter clinging to the hall like perfume.
Silence closed in—heavy, waiting. Electric.
Evander cursed and fumbled for a cloth, blotting at his bleeding nose.
Amerei stood frozen, chest rising too fast, her eyes wide and glass-bright. She pressed her hand to her mouth, as if holding back words—or tears.
Before Viktor could speak, Gabriel caught her arms, his voice low, measured.
“Breathe.”
“She can’t mean tomorrow,” Amerei whispered—half plea, half disbelief.
“She does.”
Gabriel’s grip tightened, grounding her.
“But we’ll not do anything until we tell your father.”
Viktor glanced between them—the panic in her face, the steady control in his. His question hung sharp in the air.
“What is Vykenraven—”
“Not here,” Amerei cut him off, too quickly, voice breaking.
Before Viktor could press, Gabriel seized his arm and pulled him into the stairwell, falling into step beside him as if nothing had happened.
“Walk,” he ordered.
So they did—Amerei’s arm hooked through Evander’s, his sleeve blotched with blood as he held his nose pitifully. Behind them, Gabriel matched Viktor’s stride, the picture of a scout escorting a fellow captain.
To any eyes in the hall, they were four near-strangers sharing a corridor. But Viktor felt the tension strung between them like wire, every silence sharper than a spoken word.
Gabriel veered them down a darker passage, torchlight thinning to nothing, the air damp and cool.
